My Poetry: Or Just When I Know

Or Just When I know

They return

to where, I cannot tell,

For the door to that dank dungeon
Is closed, to the sober side of me.
But they are there, like goblins,
Haunting me when I’m meditating
On something else.

To know they are there,
Is scant reward, I’m sure,
Just be assured they are.
Chained to the dark, frigid walls of my soul
Prisoners,
Of my selfish frailty,
But they shall be free one day, I hope,
To escape from my throat
Where they stick,
When I want them the most.

They shall escape once again,
When you smile, or cry
Or just when
We connect over trivial things
After a bellyful of gin,
because those simple words
Are tired of being dormant
Whenever you are near.